I’d like to think that I’d be pretty sensitive if I was one of those doctors who had to deal with all the yeah wow I really don’t know I guess I was just doing a spot of attic-clearing and then I kinda fell on this sports trophy or whatever and yes as a matter of fact I was doing the attic-clearing naked and look will this take long because I’m on double yellows and I had to leave the kid in the car so the warden thinks I’ll be right back oh what like YOU’RE such a perfect and responsible babysitter I suppose injuries.
And I’d like to think that I wouldn’t be the sort who just nods sagely and tuts in sympathetic regret and winces at all the right moments until the very second the unfortunate patient is finally checked out, but who then immediately runs down to the smoking room or wherever and totally laughs about it with all the guys from accounts. (Wait, do they even have accounts departments in a rectal hospital? Ok well the guys from wardrobe then.)
And I’d totally like to think I wouldn’t insist right there and then on taking them all out for happy hour pitchers at Wetherspoons so they could scream and laugh about it even louder and more crudely now they were away from the workplace and I’d definitely like to think I’d have the basic people skills to at least recognise the unfortunate patient if I ever saw him again, especially if he was only sitting about 15 goddamn feet away over here and hearing every word you were all saying and trying not to weep into this fourth Bacardi Breezer because whoever’s stupid kid will only ask a bunch of super emasculating questions about the streaky mascara when I finally get it together to limp back to the car and drive him home.
